Don't Throw Scissors
by Meridian31
Summary: "Don't yell at me like I'm a child!" - "DON'T THROW SCISSORS!" / Drabble. One-Shot.


You didn't know precisely what was most contributing to your sour mood, but you were absolutely neck deep in it. Work had been a pain in the ass, with shady goings-on in management and between other coworkers. Your mother and you were again in a bad place, your relationship never having been the best, to be fair. You hadn't been able to sleep with all these things weighing on your mind, so you were just exhausted physically.

But coming home from work to find Dean sprawled on the couch, in a hoodie and gym shorts, nursing a beer, had been your last straw. There were so many things that obviously could have been done in the house at the moment; empty the dishwasher, clean literally anything because it all needed it let's be honest, laundry, wrap the presents that were sitting on the dining room table for the baby shower you were attending tomorrow.

Instead, he was watching the TV, your dog curled in to his side, looking the picture of calm and content and relaxed. All things you weren't.

"Hey baby," he called out a greeting, not even looking over the back of the couch at you.

You may have tossed your purse and work bag down on the kitchen counter a little too hard, but at that point you didn't care. You were just _pissed_.

Without responding to Dean, you went upstairs to change out of your work clothes and into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Taking your bra off finally was wonderful, but it was a short lived moment of happiness. You ventured back downstairs, ready to tackle literally everything, apparently on your own.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Fine." Dean was many things, but he wasn't dumb. And you knew he knew your answer meant you were most definitely **not** fine.

"…something happen at work?"

"Always does," was your short response, as you yanked open the fridge door.

You took out your own beer, popping off the top and taking a long drink. Rummaging around, you pulled out items to throw together a salad, having cooked some chicken the day before to put on it as well. Dropping items at random on to the counter top, you finally shut the fridge and went about making your food.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope." You didn't even look at him as you spoke, focusing instead on making your meal. He didn't say more to you as you continued on, eventually putting some items back in the fridge. Taking your salad with you, you went over to the dining room table, to wrap the presents sitting there. Working in silence, you noticed out of the corner of your eye, Dean watching you. You were just waiting for him to say something stupid, the bitter comebacks sitting on the tip of your tongue for him.

"Do you want help?"

And there it was.

"Oh, now you wanna help?" Your words were sarcastic, even a little mocking.

"…the hell does that mean?"

"Just wondering why now that I'm home you seem so eager to do something. Had plenty of time to do stuff today while I was gone, didn't you?"

"Did you _tell_ me to do something?" He asked, confused, missing the entire point.

"I shouldn't have to fucking tell you to do things, Dean," you declared, throwing the scissors you had been using to cut wrapping paper down on to the table, causing them to skitter several feet across the wooden surface.

"You need to calm the hell down with your little temper tantrum," he demanded.

"Don't yell at me like I'm a child!"

"DON'T THROW SCISSORS!" You looked up, glaring at him.

"I wouldn't have scissors to be _throwing_ if you had done this earlier today," you snapped.

"At what point did it become my job to wrap presents for a baby shower I'm not even going to? And let's be fucking real, we both know it'll look like shit if I did it anyways," he argued back.

"Fine then. How about fucking cleaning? Dishes? Laundry? Any-fucking-thing in the house that could be done? Why is it all on me?!"

"You're acting like we're living in a damn trash dump right now," he brushed you off, rolling his eyes. "It's not a big deal."

"It's not a big deal to _you_ because you're not the one who's going to be doing it," you retorted. With a final nasty look, you returned back to the task at hand, folding over the wrapping paper on the side of the baby toy and securing it with tape.

Dean didn't say anything more to you. You hoped it was because he recognized that at this point, you were infuriated, and continuing the argument would only cause malicious, hurtful things to be said. Things that would take more than time, an apology, and a slight change in behavior to make better. You continued to ignore him as well, finishing your job with the presents. Tomorrow you'd make up most likely, but for now, you were just going to coexist.


End file.
